All mayhem broke out as Clay set her down and her employees reacted with shock, surprise and delight.
Zara shot Marisol a mystified look, but she nevertheless announced, "It's party time! Everyone stay right here until I get back." She snuck out and returned with two bottles of champagne and a red velvet cake, which she proclaimed suited the red hot couple perfectly.
Shortly after they toasted, Clay turned to Marisol. "I have to leave now. I'll come by at seven and we'll celebrate tonight." He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Cancel your appointments for tomorrow. We need a full day together."
To everyone's delight, he gave Marisol a long, lusty kiss and when he released her she nearly melted to the floor in a puddle of desire. Cheers of encouragement followed him out the door.
Marisol caught Zara's questioning look as she carried the rest of the cake to the kitchen in the back of the salon. Zara followed her and said in a low tone, "What's going on? How much do you really know this guy? I mean, he sure is hot, but getting married after just meeting him—that's a little extreme."
Marisol couldn't get into her reasons for doing so in the kitchen where anyone could pop in, so she whispered back, "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. I'll tell you more later."
"Okay, but please be careful," Zara said.
"I will," Marisol assured her, meaning every word.
Just as Zara left to check on her client's hair dye, Trini walked into the kitchen. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting married?" she asked, serving herself another slice of cake. She ate it in big bites and waited for Marisol to speak.
Marisol heard the hurt in Trini's voice. "It all happened so suddenly."
"I'll say! You just set a new record," Trini said, swallowing a mouthful of cake.
"Yeah, well, I can't believe I got married either, but I'm crazy about Clay," Marisol said honestly.
"I can see that," Trini said, grinning. "So dish already."
"I can't get into it now, Trini. We'll talk later." She had shocked Trini with the news, but she couldn't tell her more.
"You're going to make me wait? No fair! When is the honeymoon, or did it already start?" she teased.
"That's private." Marisol chuckled at Trini's pout. "By the way, where did you get your dress? I love it!"
"Thanks! I designed it and made it myself," Trini boasted, brightening instantly as she smoothed her hands over her fitted, safari green shirtdress accented with burnished gold buttons.
* * *
Clay stared at a crime sketch in front of him and tried to concentrate, but it was no use. Cursing, he let it slide from his hands onto the desk. He'd sworn he would never remarry and today, a five-minute ceremony had changed everything. What had possessed him to marry Marisol, even as a pretense? Before meeting her, no amount of gratitude to anyone, not even Marcos, could have made him get married, even in name only.
Since divorcing Jillian, Clay had retreated into a solitude he'd come to cherish, one that only his tight relationship with his brother Jimmy could penetrate. Daily martial arts and meditation, combined with his work had helped combat the anguish he'd felt after Jillian's selfish abortion. A year had passed before Clay had begun dating again, but he'd never fallen in love again. He'd carry the scars of Jillian's treachery for the rest of his life—it had crushed his soul and savaged his trust.
From the moment he met Marisol, Clay began to feel subtle changes in his life and he was stunned by the realization that he relished being in close quarters with her. Every morning, he looked forward to seeing her dazzling smile light up her impish face and to hearing her lilting Latin accent as she teased him with sassy comments.
For the life of him, Clay didn't want to admit how drawn he was to Marisol's vibrant company. Her feminine, romantic ideas of a perfect wedding had brightened his dark soul more than he cared to admit. But he could never be the man of her dreams. His life had been too gritty, his outlook too dark. He would only make her despair over his negative views on marriage and children.
Hell, she was turning him into a softie, he thought, disgusted with his musing. He had been perfectly content before meeting her and his solitude suited him just fine.
Detective Jenny Wilkins walked into his office carrying a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming Cuban espresso coffee and several tiny plastic cups that resembled thimbles. "Why the brooding look?" the tall, green-eyed brunette asked as she poured the strong brew into two cups.
Clay downed his cup like a shot of whiskey and handed it back to her for a refill. "Aah," he grunted. "How did you guess I needed that?"
"I've known you too long not to know something big is going on." Jenny gave him a quizzical look. "What's with the fancy duds?"
Clay glanced at his clothes. He loosened his tie and tugged it off. "I got married today."
Jenny gaped at him. "Did you just say you got married?"
Clay nodded. "Yep. You can close your mouth now."
Jenny whistled softly. "I didn't know you were serious about anybody. Who's the lucky bride?"
"Marcos Calderon's younger sister," he replied. "You remember meeting Marcos, don't you?"
"Of course." Jenny raised her brows and smiled. "Dr. Calderon is not somebody you easily forget." She sank into a chair across from him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay, out with it. I want the full story."
Clay chuckled mirthlessly. Jenny had often tried to set him up with her friends hoping that he'd change his negative views on marriage. "Marcos asked me to watch over his kid sister, Marisol, as a favor to him because some guy is stalking her anonymously."
"And?"
"Nothing else. That's it."
Jenny stared at Clay in disbelief. "That's why you married her?"
"I had to," he said, ignoring Jenny's mocking grin. "The stalker's phone calls and gifts were getting kinkier. This guy means to hurt her. He's obsessed with marrying her—writes that in every note. Our marriage should discourage him long enough for me to find him."
"Sure, and I have a property in little Haiti to sell you," she said scornfully. "Come on, Clay. We both know marriage won't stop a psychopath."
"It's only temporary. After I arrest the stalker, we're getting an annulment."
"Not planning to consummate this marriage, are we?" Jenny chortled and slapped Clay's shoulder as she got up. "Marisol could change your views about marriage you know."
"Don't you have work to do?" he demanded, irritated by her amusement as she sauntered away, chuckling loudly.
Damn, were all women such romantics?
* * *
The afternoon rain had finally cleared when Clay returned to the Villabella Salon. Marisol's breath caught in her throat when she saw him filling the doorway, his powerful physique partially blocking the afternoon sun's orange rays that filtered in behind him. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes and his thick black hair was combed straight back, emphasizing the sharp, lean planes of his face. Taut and muscular, Clay exuded potent animal grace and raw sexual heat.
"Ready to leave?" he asked, his voice gritty.
Clay's deep voice commanded her attention as Marisol stared at his mouth and memories of his hungry kisses sent tiny spasms of pleasure coursing through her. Her palms dampened and she fumbled with her purse, dropping it as she tried to retrieve the keys.
"I have to lock up," she said, dismayed when her voice came out squeaky. She turned off the lights and closed the salon door before turning to Clay, with a bit more composure.
"How was your afternoon?" she inquired, looking away from his tempting mouth.
"Not as productive as I'd hoped. I don't have any definite leads on your case yet, but I've been checking and cross-referencing the lists you gave me. The satin handcuffs weren't purchased at any local store in Miami-Dade County. They were custom made and I'm still trying to trace them."
"Oh," Marisol said quietly, as she walked beside him to the parking lot.
Clay opened the car door for her. "Did he contact you today?"
"No,
thank God." Marisol touched Clay's arm. "Do you mind if we stop at Publix before we go home? I need to buy a few things."
"No problem."
When they got to the supermarket, the parking lot was so crowded that Clay pulled up and Marisol ran inside. She filled her basket with a loaf of honey wheat bread, Fuji apples, bananas and nectarines and headed to the express lane.
Marisol paid for her groceries and then greeted her favorite bag boy who was saying good-bye to a girl at another register.
"Hey, Jimmy. How are you?" she asked the young man, glad that Publix had a policy of giving mentally handicapped people the opportunity to bag groceries. Marisol had met Jimmy on the first day he started work, and during the past year they had become friends.
Jimmy's face crimsoned and he ducked his head. "Hi, Marisol," he said, in his slightly slurred speech.
"How's everything? I haven't seen you in a while."
"I work afternoons now. I'm at the end of my shift," he said slowly articulating each word.
They walked outside and Marisol saw Clay's car idling nearby. She waved at him and then turned to Jimmy.
"How are you getting home?" she asked, concerned that it would be getting dark soon.
"The bus," Jimmy said, staring at Clay when he pulled up,
Marisol turned to Clay and said, "I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Jimmy. He's at the end of his shift and I'd like to offer him a ride home."
Jimmy scratched his head and gave Clay a bewildered look. "How do you know Marisol? She's my friend."
Clay turned questioning eyes from Marisol to Jimmy before giving Jimmy his full attention."She's my friend, too, Jimmy."
Marisol gawked at them. "You two know each other?"
"Yes, Jimmy is my little brother," Clay said.
"Your little brother?" Marisol repeated, momentarily startled, but she recovered graciously. "In that case, please join us for dinner, Jimmy."
Clay smiled at Jimmy. "Hop in. We're taking you to dinner with us."
"Great." Jimmy's open face was filled with adoration It was obvious that Clay was Jimmy's hero and he was delighted to be included in their plans.
Jimmy didn't resemble Clay in the least. The only similarity between them was in the black hair, although Jimmy's was much finer than Clay's thick, coarse hair. Jimmy was plumper and considerably shorter than Clay and had a sweet, boyish face with round brown eyes.
There was nothing sweet or boyish in Clay's features. His rugged face held testimony of dangerous living and survival. More than once, Marisol had seen a glimmer of pain shrouded in Clay's guarded eyes.
They didn't bother stopping home to drop off the nonperishable groceries, instead heading straight to dinner. Clay had a reservation at Villaggio restaurant in Merrick Park, where they dined al fresco among softly lit potted palm trees. Seated intimately around the round table, Clay, Marisol, and Jimmy spent an enjoyable evening, keeping the conversation light and focused on Jimmy.
As they left the restaurant, Marisol's heart lurched when she glimpsed the broad back of the man ahead of her. She could have sworn it was her ex-fiancé, Gabe, as she watched his brash swagger and caught a whiff of expensive Italian cologne. It was absurd to be jarred at seeing Gabe out of his usual South Beach turf and in Coral Gables, but a mere glimpse of him was enough to irritate her. When he jumped into a red Porsche and sped away, Marisol shuddered and rubbed her bare arms.
Clay placed a protective arm around her shoulders and murmured in her ear, "Is something wrong?"
Marisol tried to dispel her unease by smiling at Clay and Jimmy. "No, nothing. Why?"
"You look a little shaken."
Marisol waved away Clay's comment with a blithe hand. There was no use telling him that she thought she had seen Gabe because then Clay would suspect him of being the stalker and that wasn't likely. Her ex-fiancé was too cocky and full of himself to remain anonymous while he sent her gifts and notes. Plus, the voice on the phone had not been Gabe's.
"I guess I'm a bit jumpy," Marisol said, linking her arm with Jimmy's as they walked to the car.
Clay drove Jimmy to The Haven of Hope, a special working community for mentally handicapped adults. When they got there, Marisol said good-bye to Jimmy with a kiss on his cheek. She watched Clay walk Jimmy to the door, his strong arm fondly draped over his younger brother's narrow shoulders. Marisol loved the easy, affectionate way Clay interacted with Jimmy as they chatted like close brothers.
After they spoke for a few moments, Clay hugged Jimmy and left. Feelings of warmth mingled with near painful longing inundated Marisol's heart as she witnessed the deep love Clay had for Jimmy.
Someday Clay would make a wonderful father; she was certain of it.
* * *
They drove home in silence, each lost deep in thought and when they reached Marisol's apartment, Clay said, "I'll put away the groceries while you pack an overnight bag. I wasn't able to hire a locksmith, so tomorrow I'll install the locks on your doors myself. We're staying at The Delano Hotel tonight."
"The Delano? Really?" When he nodded, Marisol raised her brows at the expensive hotel he'd chosen. "Why not your apartment?"
"Where do most newlyweds spend their first night together?" he asked with an arched brow.
"In a hotel."
"Bingo. If the stalker's watching, we'll be more convincing."
Marisol couldn't argue with that, so she quickly packed a bag and changed into a vivid print silk dress appropriate for The Delano crowd. She was glad of her choice; the silk felt luxurious against her skin and after working all day in the linen dress, she felt like wearing something soft and fluid.
Marisol bent forward and fluffed her hair. When she straightened up, her cheeks felt flushed but it wasn't an aftereffect of being bent over. Her blood warmed at the prospect of spending the night with Clay in a hotel. It was past ten and she was eager to leave as she grabbed her overnight bag and joined Clay in the living room.
"I'm ready," she announced, blushing when he gave her a slow, sexy smile that held carnal promises.
They checked into the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Clay Blackthorne, with only two small overnight bags at eleven o'clock in the evening. When they arrived at the top floor, Clay held her hand and led her to the penthouse suite.
Stunned, she turned to him. "The penthouse?" Was he out of his mind? Either he was a millionaire or he'd just robbed a bank because one night in the Delano Hotel penthouse had to cost at least a thousand dollars.
Clay's white teeth flashed brilliantly against his bronze, chiseled face. "After the past two nights, I decided you deserved a night of peaceful sleep."
He unlocked the door and together they entered a stunning room that had a walk-in wet bar, custom Philippe Starck-designed furniture, a sitting and dining area, flowing white curtains and spectacular views from the private, spacious balcony.
It was the most breathtaking suite Marisol had ever seen. "Look at all these flowers!" she exclaimed happily, leaning over to inhale the heady fragrance of pink long-stemmed roses. "They're gorgeous!"
"Come," Clay said, leading her to the all white bedroom where next to the king size bed on a small table, a chilled bottle of champagne rested in a crystal ice bucket. Beside it, a silver tray bore plump strawberries and a small bowl of dulce de leche, her favorite Argentinean sweet.
Marisol dazedly reclined sideways on the edge of the bed and rested her head on her hand. "Join me," she said, patting the space beside her.
It all felt like a dream, one she didn't want to wake up from. She was with Clay in a penthouse suite that had all the makings of a romantic evening.
She scooted over when he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "I thought our marriage was for appearances only. Not that I'm complaining about all this, but that is what I agreed to this morning," she said, watching him for a reaction.
"You think I brought you here to seduce you?" he asked mildly.
"Maybe."
"That wasn't my intention. I did it bec
ause you were so sad after our wedding ceremony, I wanted to erase the tackiness of it."
"Aw, thanks. Underneath that tough chest beats a heart of gold," she said, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
"Don't overdo it," he said dryly.
"So where are you planning to sleep?" she asked with a coy smile.
Clay mouth held a hint of sardonic humor. "I'm your husband now, I'll sleep beside you. Unless you object."
"Well..." Object? All she wanted was for him to make love to her, she thought, shivering with delicious anticipation. "Things might get out of hand..." she murmured, lazily tracing her finger over the top of his big hand.
Marisol's pulse quickened at the image of Clay's naked body beside her in the bed. Who said anything about being naked, she asked herself with wicked glee. She could only hope. Even if he remained fully clothed and on top of the sheets, he'd be too hot to resist.
"They might," he conceded. He took hold of her hand and turning it palm upwards, kissing the center before letting it go.
Pleasurable sensations coursed through Marisol, making her intimate parts throb and tingle at the feel of his warm, velvety lips on her sensitive palm.
"Maybe I should take the sofa," he added, watching her steadily.
Marisol sat up, invitation brimming in her eyes. "That would hardly be fair. After the two nights you've spent on my couch, you deserve a good night's sleep."
"Believe me, it was a luxury compared to some of the grungy places I've slept while working undercover narc. I'm used to roughing it."
Marisol didn't know how to respond to that. Growing up with more luxuries than she needed, she had never had to rough it. Compared to her cushy life, Clay's world seemed dangerous and bleak.
She walked around the room and took in the details. "This place must have cost a fortune."
"It's only one night, sunshine."
Only one night, she repeated silently. A lot could happen in one night—at least she hoped so.
"I'm going to freshen up a bit."
Marisol carried her overnight bag into the lavish, white Italian marble bathroom and filled the big soaking tub with hot water and the freesia-scented bath oil the hotel provided. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the fragrant steamy bath. Exhausted, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and within minutes dozed off.
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